Chapter 28 Run and Hide
Chapter twenty-eight
Run and Hide
My feet hurt and my thighs burned from hiking. I followed the setting sun until the tree canopy cut off my view of it, and I walked farther and farther into the growing darkness.
My breathing was hard from exertion.
I needed to be as deep into the forest as possible, to be as far away from every other wolf as possible.
Not running scared like I had been the previous full moon, I was able to recognise the signs of my approaching shift. A stiffness in my spine, an ache in my jaw.
I stopped and removed my jacket, shoes, and clothing.
Even knowing I was alone, I looked around anxiously like someone might see me naked.
I folded my clothes neatly and laid them on top of the trainers.
It was probably a pointless task. I wasn’t a great tracker, and I probably wouldn’t be able to find my way back to them if I made it through the night.
I wasn’t looking forward to a naked hike back to the cabin.
That was going to be another challenge in itself: finding my way back on my own. If I could.
I decided it was best to focus on one life-threatening task at a time. If I wanted to survive finding my way back tomorrow morning, I first had to survive the night.
The first wave of searing pain cracked down my spine, pushing all the air from my lungs; my mouth fell open in a silent scream as I dropped to the cold, hard ground.
My shoulders and hips popped and cracked sickeningly in unison.
Copper overwhelmed my taste buds.
My vision blurred; my head felt like it would explode, until it did.
My ankle twisted and contorted at odd angles.
I howled in agony.
Until, as always, it ended as suddenly as it had started, and I was pushing myself onto four legs, four paws.
In the distance, I heard the howls of many, many others coming together in a song that sounded a lot like a death march.
I ran.
Ran as fast as I could. Hoping I was travelling straight, further away from all the others.
It was difficult to know for sure. I looked to the starry night above, but I had no knowledge of the constellations to help me find my way.
My dad had tried to teach me when I was young, during nights spent as a family, on a picnic blanket, stargazing.
All I cared about back then were the stories that went along with the stars, not identifying them in the night sky or navigation.
The sound of others grew louder and fainter. I wasn’t sure how much distance was between them and me; only that I had run and run the entire night, scared by my own shadow, spurred faster by the sound of breaking twigs and the crunch of leaves under my own paws.
I was exhausted. I had started the night exhausted. I felt it in the pain and lactic acid build-up in my muscles, in the way I tried to run, but despite my best efforts, I had slowed to a trot.
I had no choice but to stop and rest. My legs, even with four of them, would not carry me further without rest.
My tongue was long and annoying and hung from my muzzle as I panted. It was dry and sticky, and I had accidentally bitten it more than once.
In school, they taught us about the shift: how our bodies would tear themselves apart and reconfigure, grow anew; how our senses would be amplified; how we’d be able to run and jump and see and hear and smell like we never could in our human form.
But there was no lesson on how to manage an absurdly long tongue. There should have been.
For a moment, once I stopped, I could hear only my own panting and the rapid beat of my heart.
But gradually, other sounds came to me. Scuttling sounds of small creatures across the ground and other similar sounds higher.
I looked up without thought and caught a glimpse of a squirrel's eyes watching me, the poor creature, statue-still at my movement. I wouldn’t harm it.
The hoot of an owl, the flap of a bat's wings, the murmur of running water.
Water.
I needed water.
I’d never been so thirsty in my life.
I listened carefully, pushing myself onto shaking legs and following the sound, until it was loud—until I saw silver moonlight dancing on inky black.
The river wasn’t very wide; maybe thirty feet, give or take.
I lowered my face into the water and lapped it up greedily.
It was freezing. The kind of cold that was refreshing after hours of running without stopping.
I enjoyed the taste too. Fresh. Natural in a way that tap water wasn’t and bottled water claimed to be.
Water was tasty.
Water was distracting.
I heard the sound of something snapping; it was too loud to be rodents or small mammals.
I lifted my muzzle from the water and became a statue like a squirrel.
I scanned everything I could see without moving my head.
There were only the sounds of the water and the forest.
After a while, I laughed at myself, creating an odd sort of chortling sound. I was paranoid, hearing things. I went back to lapping up water.
Until it happened again.
Once was my imagination, but twice…
Above the treeline, the dark night sky on the horizon grew a lighter grey-blue.
The night was almost over.
How ironic was it that I had made it so far, for so long, only to lose the game of cat and mouse at the last moment?
Snap.
Too loud to miss.
Too close to ignore, to pretend it didn’t happen.
I turned fast, as if moving quickly would frighten off whoever was approaching me.
My back paws entered the cold river.
A black wolf, easily twice my size, bared its teeth to me.
I’d recognise him anywhere, in any form.
Ashford.
He lunged for me. I lunged backwards, further into the river, and not anticipating how deep it would be, or how fast the current would pull me downstream.
The coldness made my legs and tail numb; the warmth of my previous exertion bleeding freely from me, stolen by the river.
I tried to swim towards the edge, aware that Ashford was chasing me along the riverbank.
Mustering all the strength I could, I forced my numb limbs to push me towards the edge of the river until my paws hit the silt and slippery stones, the sound of the river deafening in my ears.
I scrambled out of the water, only to be tackled back into the shallows, with Ashford landing heavily on top of me.
He pressed my muzzle under the water with one heavy paw.
I couldn’t breathe.
Water entered my nose, and in panic I managed to push him from me, coughing and gagging as I threw myself onto the bank.
Ashford had fallen into the water but was quick to get back up, angrily shaking water from his fur as he stalked towards me.
I pushed myself to my paws with what energy I had left, taking ragged breaths, trying to breathe past the sensation of water trapped in my throat threatening to enter my lungs and drown me.
In the back of my head, I remembered hearing that it took less than a teaspoon of water to drown or something equally terrifying, and I coughed again.
There was no more running left for me to do.
I squared my stance, lowered my head, and bared my teeth.
I wouldn’t make it easy for him.
He had taken everything from me. He thought he had the right. He thought that because he was an alpha and had saved me once, my life was his.
I would make him work for it.
If I were going to die, I would die with the taste of his blood on my tongue.
He lunged, launching himself from the river towards me. I met him head-on, pushing up on my back legs, his weight crashing against me.
I was sent sprawling to the side.
He was on top of me, his teeth tearing into my shoulder, coming away with clumps of fur and red staining his teeth.
It was like being pierced with a hot poker, feeling more like a burn—an initial searing pain that was forgotten quickly.
I kicked his belly with my back legs, and he jumped back growling angrily, hitting across my muzzle with his paw like swatting away an annoying insect.
I scrambled up onto my paws. My shoulder was weak; the lightening blue of the sky allowed me to see the dark dampness of my blood coating my brown fur from the corner of my eye.
I couldn’t assess the damage properly; I couldn’t even feel it, not really.
All my attention was on Ashford, who began to stalk me in a circular motion.
I turned as he moved, following him, not allowing him an opportunity to attack me from the side.
Something instinctive roared inside me, made my chest heave, and the muscles in my abdomen and legs tightened until I burst forward, lunging at Ashford.
He was surprised, his head tilting to the side momentarily in a wolfish sign of confusion.
I clattered against him, and we rolled across the wet dirt of the riverbank together.
As we clattered together, rolling and skidding to a stop, I felt the pulse, the ripple of the shift beginning.
Ashford was the first to howl in pain as he contorted on top of me, his claws still slashing for me, narrowly avoiding my face.
My own shift back to human began, cracking down my spine, tearing through my legs.
As the last remnants of the waves of transformation and pain receded from me—before I had a chance to fill my lungs with air again—Ashford’s hand was around my throat like a fist, dragging me up.
I clawed at his hand; he batted me away with his other.
“Give up!” he roared.
“No,” I said, the word scraping out of my throat in a hoarse whisper.
He spat in my face and threw me away from him in rage.
I crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, my windpipe feeling half-crushed.
I looked up at him and wiped his spit from my face with the back of my hand.
It was cold. So much colder without my fur, and warmth leaked from me, streaming down my right shoulder and over my breast.
But I smiled when I saw his chest heaving, the ripple of his abdominal muscles. There were four red, bloody, angry gashes marring his tanned skin.
I did that.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked, sneering at me like I was something disgusting to look at.